Project Undertow
Consider how many times in this life you’ve felt like your feet have been pulled from underneath you unexpectedly.
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I like to think of these moments as “Undertow” moments. Times when the current that exists under the waves is contrary to the waves we see atop them; a.k.a. when we go through those unseen battles.
This is a passion project aimed at sharing these moments.
Each participant involved has experienced their own “undertow” to some degree and sees the value in being transparent enough to share them with others as a means of growth and connection.
“a bleeding heart on a sleeve”
“If I just had someone to sit down with me who understood. To tell me that there was nothing wrong with me and I was just sensitive because I cared and I felt things that other people don’t. I think that would’ve given me confidence early on.” - Hannah
As a growing young adult, it’s a weird place to be. On one hand you’re not grown enough to live and thrive on your own. On the other hand you are at the most imperative state for self expression and personal growth as an individual. This stage of life requires guidance and direction. It’s a state where irrational thought and emotional build up are normal. It’s another level to understanding emotional intelligence and gaining tools that will help you be a great adult. But what happens when you were only given the purpose of being an obedient child, not grow into a free-thinker.
When you ask why, but aren’t met with answers that help you.
When you feel too deeply and heavily that it comes out as being “too sensitive”.
But it’s not that! You’re just intuitive and empathetic. You’re meant to understand all these issues and hone in on those skills, except you’re told to burry them and just listen instead.
This doesn’t just stop at childhood. It bleeds into adulthood too, with bosses. With society. With leaders in place. We are told to keep our eyes forward and do what we are told. We should right? Because why would our voice matter anyway? Why would our true purpose matter anyway?
Our true purpose wouldn’t serve those in charge. It would draw us away from the things they need and into what WE need, into the person the world actually needs us to be. Into a mission for the greater good, not to that place of quiet obedience. How detrimental a time to feel that you are screaming to be heard, but your volume is turned down. To be without the tools or opportunity to even try because you don’t quite have the strength or knowledge to express what you mean.
How heavy a task to know that the things you experienced were a result of other peoples brokenness and understand that you were the one tasked with breaking those generational traumas. With an obligation to protect those weaker and younger than yourself from ever feeling the brunt of the things you have. To step up to the plate that no one else is willing to face, sometimes tired and broken in the midst. To finally understand your purpose after years of searching and healing. To set boundaries and learn to be okay with ruffling feathers. To be okay with walking alone and knowing that others would heal because you chose to be strong.
“the beast of the mind”
“Keep going through all the things that you don’t understand and someday it will all make sense and you’re going to learn how to love yourself and meet yourself where you’re at.” - Emma
A thorn. The slight sting it leaves as it pricks your finger. Moments later you still feel it. Even as time has passed, its memory lingers in your mind.
A word. One small comment. The sting it leaves in your chest as you take it to heart. It was meant with good intentions, but why does it feel like a train?
A thought. One single thought that doesn’t make sense, but somehow it wrecks your whole day. The sting that thought leaves in your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror.
The action. The action that came from the thought, that came from the words. The action that started the cycle. An unbreakable one, it seems.
One of self destruction and sabotage.
A good intention. One turned sour as the intention became obsession. An obsession of self image that led to malnourishment. A counting of calories. A celebration of decimation as bones peak from below your frame.
An opposition. A rebellion against the starvation. An overthrow of the self control. Overindulgence.
A silent struggle. One that no one wants to talk about.
“Wow you’ve lost weight. Looks good.”
Underneath a body thrown flippantly from scarcity to surplus as if it were a yo-yo and a mind clawing at your skull to escape.
To reject the very thing that houses you and protects the most insular parts of your being.. to ache.
But oh, to learn to love again. To accept again. To breathe again. To feel again. To know confidence again. To know this thorn had a purpose.
To have compassion for other young ears who hear the same things you did. The ability to shed a positive light on the beast that is the mind. To help.
To be mindful of your words and use them to uplift rather than tear, knowing that anyone could be just one step away, like you were, from neglecting their body to satisfy their mind.
“home in a someone”
“Finding “I feel fine” in people was the first mistake. Also being in those developmental years with a person. Having your brain molded around someone… I think your early experiences will always be a part of you.” - Jack
They say home is where the heart is.
But what if the home wasn’t your own heart? What if It were a someone?
A soul of the same likeness who too was wandering, untainted by the harshness of life and love.
The perfect medium for the masterpiece to be painted. Full of vivid color, the love guided the brush.
Like the flowers in spring you grew. Like vines of ivy, you became intertwined and rose to the highest peak in the same tune.
Until you fell.
Plunged even.
As rain falls from the sky, you gained speed until…nothing.
The line to “home” severed.
Waking from a dream and falling into a nightmare.
Loneliness the star of the show.
Not the kind of loneliness that comes from a missing piece.
The kind that exists from not knowing oneself deeply. That stems from not feeling understood. That feels like the end.
The expectation? To spiral. To fall into monotony and become undone.
The reality? An awakening. One of self discovery and rewiring. Like moving old furniture into a new house. A million possibilities. A becoming.
Letting go of the bondage that heartbreak holds and looking forward to who you could become in the midst of it.
Caring for oneself and learning of the power of friendship.
Aching, but living on despite.
Finding out that you alone are enough and that the only home you really needed was yourself.
“tightrope”
“I want other people to grow and process what happened to them. Because you’ll never forget what happened to you. It’s always gonna come up and be hard.” - Trinity
Walking on a tightrope: confident, bold, balanced.
Fear, a natural response due to the height. The beauty above you and before you grounding and inspiring you to take another step.
Enthralled by the rush of adrenaline. If you could conquer this great feat, what else would you be able to accomplish?
Then you wake.
Back to reality. Back to confusion. Back to pain.
You used to feel like a tightrope walker, but now you find it hard to believe you could accomplish anything.
Putting on your “brave face”, whatever that means.
You cover up dark, swollen eyes.
An attempt to hide the brokenness you feel to save face in front of others.
You were young.
You couldn’t have known.
But they detached you from the child within.
Stripped you of innocence.
Pushed you into a reality that pressed the life from your soul everyday.
Your brain manipulated to believe that you were the one who caused it.
“Was it something I did?” “Was it something I wore?”
To think you could have somehow seen something so unexpected coming before the train hit you.
But you couldn’t have.
It wasn’t your brokenness that caused this. It was theirs.
And you didn’t deserve these cards life handed you.
But even so, the truth is:
You are brave. Incredibly strong. Worthy of love.
You are a warrior, a beacon of light
A leader. A healer. A helper.
A watcher. A protector.
You belong here. You have a purpose.
You are needed.
So press on.
Fear, a natural response.
Knowing each moment, you have the opportunity to heal and become all that someone just like you needed.
All that you were truly meant to be.
“the hurt that built me”
“Time doesn’t heal, it simply makes pain manageable.” - Foster
grief.
to be frank, it hurts.
to elaborate it sucks. it aches. it carves out the innermost parts of you then makes you watch as those parts are burned at the stake.
you are never prepared for it, though it comes without warning. like a tsunami, destroying all that is in its wake.
leaving desolation, confusion, emptiness, denial, rage.
it’s a special kind of cruel,
for memory to live on in your mind.
the memory of a life you once knew slowly fading and distorting until you can’t tell what you’ve made up in your mind and what actually happened.
to blame yourself.
thinking there was something you could’ve done.
if *this* wouldn’t have happened. if *that* hadn’t been said.
to blame because that’s easier than accepting this unexplained twist of fate that’s not your fault.
than to stare at the sinister smirk of the hooded figure with the scythe.
to think that you could turn back time.
if you offered your soul, could it replace theirs?
could you make a trade and bring back at least the feeling of what you once knew?
“my sources say no.” 🎱
so you move forward. through mud, with weights at your ankles, into unknown territory.
uncharted land. where fear and doubt reside.
where sadness becomes comfort and pain, a friend.
you walk with that pain. alone, you perceive.
carrying the heaviness on your shoulders, doing your best to heal the jagged wounds that remain.
then one day you enter the same field where you were scarred and are amazed.
feeling the remnants of the wound, but it no longer debilitates you.
looking beyond your own two feet and see others around you,
in that same field, with similar burdens.
and your heart burns with compassion for them, with a desire to help. but in turn they help you.
they don’t erase the pain, but new love and friendship fills the void, leaving you with more to be grateful for than to grieve.
you still remember, but you feel it healthily.
you grieve, but you do it gratefully.
you still don’t understand, but you hold fast to the purpose you’ve been given in its place.
“blurred lines”
“It was always hard to find a place where I fit in, but I realized that you don’t need other’s validation to be who you are at your core. You just have to live comfortably within yourself.” - Zoe
What is it to be? To exist?
It’s hard to say for sure…
It’s possible that you are a collection of a multitude of experiences,
of people’s words,
of your atmosphere.
All of which hold, within their capabilities, the possibility to create the image of who you are,
derail your autonomy,
and place you within the confines of a society that praises uniformity.
The lines pristine, without blemish.
But your innards won’t be satisfied.
You were never meant to blend in.
As different as each sunset is at days end,
as each snowflake that falls,
as each flower and insect and bird,
You were meant to be original.
You were meant to be your own.
Within you is the he inscription of a creator who made you to be perfect in your flaws.
To be different and fall in love with those differences.
To know your identity is not tied to what this world says, but something far beyond.
Something greater.
Straight lines now blurred, but somehow clearer than before.
You settle into the purpose gifted to you.
Seeing the world with the eyes and perspective molded for you.
Sharing with others the heart that empowers you.
Knowing that no one can truly define you.
You are free to be.